


A Moment Before Sleep

by Sarahtoo



Series: Phrack Fucking Friday [27]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: A little late, F/M, Mutual Masturbation, Phrack Fucking Friday, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, pff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 02:52:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17973074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: Jack comes home, tired and hungry after a very long day, to find an unexpected but very welcome presence in his home.





	A Moment Before Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Phrack Fucking Friday shouldn't be a one-day holiday. It should be every day, or at least a weekend. Mostly because I can't manage to get my shit together and post it on time. So, I'm sorry it's late, but here it is nonetheless. ♥

Jack let himself into his small house, his steps dragging. When he left that morning, it had been early, dawn just warming the sky, and it was well past dark now but still hot outside. The day had been sweltering—a brilliant Melbourne summer scorcher, which might have contributed to the sheer volume of petty crime he’d dealt with all day and had certainly contributed to his current mood. He was suffocating inside his blue wool suit and more than ready to leave the day behind. At least he’d sleep well tonight, even if it’d be alone, since Phryne had said she had plans for this evening.

Sighing heavily, he closed the door behind him and immediately began stripping off his tie with his right hand, his left reaching blindly to set his hat on its peg. His stomach growled as he shrugged off his jacket, reminding him that he'd missed lunch. And dinner. For a moment, he wished he'd thought to head to Wardlow—Mr. Butler was always good for a meal, and he knew Phryne wouldn't mind. Too late now; he was in, and he’d make do with toast. It wouldn't be the first time.

He unfastened his buttons, waistcoat then shirt, as he headed down the hall to the bedroom. Both were halfway off his shoulders as he turned into the doorway and froze, blinking in surprise.

Phryne lay on top of his bed, doona piled to one side, her naked skin glowing in the moonlight that bathed the bed through the crack in his curtains. The foot of his bed faced the door, so his view was of her bent knees—the soles of her feet pressed together, her toes curling—and the shadowed glint of her sex, obscured by the fingers that plunged and retreated between her thighs. Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back, and her other hand pinched at her nipple, squeezing her breast and rolling its turgid tip between her fingertips. He could hear the clicking of her body’s moisture as her fingers moved, her breathing quick but quiet.

Without taking his eyes off her, Jack removed his shirt and waistcoat, dropping them to the floor as he continued to undress. All he could think was that he needed to be naked; even with his body near to weeping with fatigue, the sight and sound of her drew his cock quickly—almost painfully—to attention, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to put his hand on it and watch her come.

Phryne’s back arched and she twisted at the waist, her head lifting from the pillow, eyes half-shut; seeing him, she released the grip her teeth held on her bottom lip, a small smile touching her mouth. With a low moan, she withdrew her fingers from her sheath, sliding upward to swirl around the hard knot of her clit as her eyes met his.

“Jack,” she breathed, “at last.” Licking her lips, she tossed her head back again, fingertips pinching lightly.

Jack flung off the last of his clothes, uncaring where they fell in his haste; naked, he caught his cock in his hand and moved toward the bed. Stopping at its foot, he widened his stance so that he could slide both hands between his legs. Fitting his rhythm to hers, he stroked himself, tip to base when she pushed her fingers—three now—deep inside her body, base to tip as she withdrew. His other hand cupped his testicles, rolling and squeezing them as she made similar motions against her breast. 

“Phryne,” he groaned as she sped up. This close, he could smell her too, a heady combination of French perfume and sex; it went straight to his head, as if he’d been drinking her very good whiskey, and his strokes became stronger.

As if in response, she shifted, moving her legs to plant both feet against the mattress even as her hips rose and fell, meeting her fingers in the same way they had his cock the last time he’d had her. Jack pulled at his cock, his thumb swirling in the drops that leaked from his tip, his eyes avid on the way her moisture glinted on her fingers and the deep ruby folds of her sex. He could almost feel the way her walls would close around him, the heat and the wet of her; he let his eyelids fall halfway closed as he imagined his mouth in place of her fingers. The sound of their choppy breathing rose into the quiet room, the small gasps and deep groans a perfect symphony to accompany pleasure.

Almost too late—Jack could feel the orgasm building, the tingle at the base of his spine that said it was close—she lifted the hand from her sex and reached it out to him. 

“Come closer, Jack,” she panted. 

The sound of agreement that escaped him was animalistic; immediately, Jack crawled up onto the bed, kneeling between her spread legs, his fingers twining with hers, and bent to lay his tongue against her dripping flesh.

Phryne came on a scream, her back arching off the bed. Still holding her hand, Jack slid his other wide around her thigh, holding her open as he feasted. She was sweet and salty, a flavor that he’d begun to crave from the first time he’d done this, and one that he’d never tire of. Centering himself, he crouched, his rock-hard cock throbbing where it was squeezed between his knees and his belly, and fucked her with his tongue as she writhed on the bed. She chanted his name, her free hand dropping to fist in his hair; before long, her hips were pumping against his stiffened tongue the same way they had been against her fingers.

“Again,” he growled against her, into her, wedging his shoulder against her thigh so that he could bring the hand that wasn’t twined with hers around to slide the tips of two fingers on either side of her clit. “Go over again.” He pressed the small bit of sensitive flesh between his fingertips and she obliged him, a second climax shuddering through her, her passage clamping down on his tongue.

When she went limp beneath him, Jack reared back up, his cock—now an angry, wanting red—falling away from his stomach in a silent demand. Wordlessly, he released her hand and grasped her hips to roll her over, pulling her up onto her knees and positioning his tip at her opening. 

“Protection?” The word was gravelly, and he forced himself to stop, to wait until he saw her head move in a jerky nod. When she had, he pressed himself inside her, hard and fast, and reveled in her cry of pleasure at his entrance.

Setting his jaw, he began to fuck her, the copious wetness of her arousal making his progress slick and hot. Accompanied by the sounds of his flesh slapping into hers, their cries of pleasure sang sweet arias that lovers the world over would recognize. Phryne stretched out both arms, grasping the edges of his mattress, her temple pressed to the sheets of his bed. Her eyes shone beneath heavy lids framed by messy fringe, her cheeks pink with pleasure, and she gasped for air through open lips bare of her signature scarlet. 

The look of bliss she wore as he used her body was a hand around Jack’s heart, and it wasn’t long before his thrusts became as uneven as his breath, orgasm fisting now at the base of his cock. Sliding his hands up her back, he leaned to cover her, his chest against her skin as he palmed her breasts. With a shout that he muffled against her spine, he came, his hips jerking against hers. He felt her quiver, her passage pulsing against his spasming cock as yet another climax rippled through her. His name left her mouth on a breath that he felt like a caress as he slid off of her, his head pillowed on her outstretched arm. She stretched out her legs in that boneless way that meant her muscles were still limp with release, and he met her sleepy, satisfied eyes with a smile.

“Hello there, Miss Fisher,” he murmured. “Won’t you come in, make yourself at home?”

“Thank you, inspector,” she retorted, her voice languid, “don’t mind if I do.”

“I don’t,” he assured her, sliding in to kiss her softly. “Anytime, really.”

“You were a bit later than I expected—I’ve been here for hours.”

“If I’d realized, I’d’ve rushed home. I’m glad you found some way to amuse yourself,” he brushed the tip of his nose against hers, his hand gliding from her hip up her back and down again. 

As he lay there, his muscles loose and his mind drifting, he became aware of another message his body was sending. With a groan, he realized there was no way that he’d be able to sleep without eating something, so he sat up and rolled off the edge of the bed. 

“Jack?” 

“Go on to sleep, love,” he said, leaning over to tug the doona over her soft skin, his fingers lingering. “I skipped dinner, and if I don’t eat, I’ll be awake before dawn.”

“Mr. B sent sandwiches,” she murmured, her eyes closing as she pulled her arms in to bend at her sides, one fist under her chin.

Jack shook his head, bemused. “You brought me dinner,” he said softly.

“Told you I had dinner plans,” she mumbled.

“So you did, love, so you did.” 

With a last soft stroke of her hair and his heart full to bursting with love for his difficult, sensual, brilliant woman, he turned away from the bed. Unable to pass them by, he took a moment to pick up the clothes he’d flung around the room, laying them neatly over the chair in the corner. Content with that, he headed to the kitchen wearing nothing but his skin to see what she’d brought him for dinner. Whatever it was, he’d eat quickly and hurry back to slide in beside her—he knew he’d sleep well tonight, and all the better for not being alone.


End file.
